


Denial

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Time heals all wounds. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is a cliche for every paradox. T'Pol's reaction to 4.22 "These Are The Voyages..."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

They will all die before she does.

They have known her for ten years, so they find a comfort in the way she handles his death. They think it is a Vulcan thing, that her reaction is not cold.

They are wrong. It is cold.

Her blood is cold. Her bones are cold. Her nervous system is cold. Her tissue is cold.

Of course she knows none of this is logical.

* * *

It is easier this way, she thinks during the services. His mother is crying. His father is stoic. The way he comforts her reminds T'Pol of the death of her own child. Trip would try to call it sympathy, but it is only an observation.

It's an observation that intrigues her, and preoccupies her mind during the service. Why are there similarities? Are they merely the common reactions of grieving parents? Was Trip attracted to her in an attempt to rebuild his familiar family situation by choosing someone like his father, while he is clearly more like his mother? The possibilities are fascinating. Later, she will do research.

* * *

"I've asked that you be stationed on board my ship, but if you'd like me to retract that request..."

"No."

Archer's eyes crinkle. There are more lines around them now and his hair has gone gray. It has been three months since Trip died. Archer isn't taking it as well as he's pretending to take it. Humans don't seem to take to repression as well as Vulcans. She pretends not to notice. It took her a long time to learn how important politeness is for Humans, and what they consider polite, but she is improving.

"I'm hoping that most of the crew will stay under my command. I've locked in Reed and Mayweather. And you."

"Have you found a chief engineer?" Her hands are cold. She balls them up.

Archer's expression shifts slightly; he presses his lips together which pulls his features down. For a Human, it is a very subtle change. She has learned to react as though it has passed unnoticed.

"Not yet." He straightens something on his desk. She doesn't make a note of what it is. "I hear the cabins will be bigger in the new ship."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, sir."

Archer is at his desk looking at a computer screen. He doesn't look up when she comes in. It has been a year since Trip died.

"I heard about the run-in you had with Commander Michaels."

"It wasn't a run-in." She picks apart the words with distaste. "It was a disagreement."

He swivels his chair and looks up at her. "You and Michaels have a lot of disagreements."

T'Pol quirks and eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

Archer squints at her. She knows that he can't tell whether she is being serious or not. Under most circumstances, she doesn't mind vague intentions, however...

"I hadn't," she repeats.

"All right." Archer's nostrils flare slightly as he sucks in a deep breath. She remembers when the scent of Humans was offensive to her, particularly their breath. It's muddy and salty and primal, but she's developed a tolerance, even an appreciation of it over the years. When she packed Trip's things, she'd buried her nose in his uniform and willed herself to remember that scent, because soon it would fade.

"Is that all?" she asks.

"No." Archer stands, careful not to stand too close to her. In personal situations, he avoids being within arm's length of her. The last time they'd touched aside from intense moments on board or on away missions had been when he'd hugged her before his speech. Perhaps it is a form of respect. Or fear. Or guilt. "I'm worried that there is a rift between the two of you."

T'Pol folds her hands behind her back. She is looking at his eyes, but his gaze, as always, is focused just above her own. "Our disagreement was professional, not personal. If you are insinuating that this is due to his position, I assure you that—"

Archer holds up a hand to silence her. "I'm having the same trouble with him."

"Our disagreement," she says, "Had nothing to do with Trip."

His eyes snap down, and he's looking at her. For the first time in a year, he's actually looking at her. She has to tense her muscles to avoid shivering. She is always cold. The temperature on the ship is set for Humans.

"Not everything has to do with Trip," she says.

"Yes. It does." Archer's voice is strange. She can't tell if it's been warped by an emotion or a lack thereof. He looks away from her again, back to the computer screen now on his right.

"You aren't betraying him by..." She stops, remembering what Humans consider to be polite. "By accepting the new chief engineer."

Archer sits again, leaning his chin against his fist. "Try to make him feel more welcome, if you can."

* * *

T'Pol expected Archer to die in a fight of some sort. Any fight, whether in his ship or in hand-to-hand combat. She hadn't expected illness to slowly drain him of his ability to fight, until he finally drifted away in his sleep.

She was by his bedside when it happened. She watched the machines mark his death, and she held his hand until it went cold.

Now, they are having a kind of ceremony, celebrating his life and his accomplishments. They asked her to speak, but she declined. Instead, she is sitting by the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves drift slowly, until they quietly slide into the sand. The ocean goes on. It doesn't feel anything.

Trip died twelve years ago.

She squints up at the sky. For a moment, she considers another profession, but she dismisses the thought. Her hair and face are hot from the sun, and she stretches her fingers out.

The sun doesn't feel anything for the waves either, she realizes, but it still lends its warmth.

* * *

"What was Enterprise like?" one of the children asks. T'Pol is the only surviving member of the original crew.

Trip died seventy-four years ago.

She is quiet for a long moment. Some of the children begin to shift in their seat impatiently. The children remind her of them, all of the ones who have passed by now. They are so eager to know more, because they are fully cognizant of the fact that they will never know everything there is to know in their short lives.

She regrets that she cannot give them the answer they want.

"Hopeful," she says. "And devastating."


End file.
